Enjoy your shower, Mia.
Her response made me laugh:
You’re impossible. See you Monday, Jack.
The screen went dark, leaving me alone with my thoughts and that picture of her in burgundy lace. I wasn’t sure how I’d make it through the weekend without laying eyes on her.
I set the phone down, my reflection mocking me in the mirror. When had I become this man? The one who counted down the hours until I could see a woman who had thoroughly unmade me?
I didn’t have an answer. I only knew that when it came to Mia Harris, I was completely and utterly lost.
MIA
Istared at the conference room booking screen, my finger hovering over the submit button. Private meeting with Jack Sullivan. Five minutes from now. Second floor conference room. The one with the blinds and solid walls instead of glass.
My heart hammered against my ribs. Was I really doing this?
Three orgasms. Jack had given me three mind-blowing orgasms in the past week, and I’d just... taken them. And look, a girl’s not complaining, but fair’s fair. Today was the day where that all changed. Unless I chickened out. Before giving myself a chance to do just that, I clicked submit. The booking request pinged through the system, and I practically held my breath waiting for his response. Five seconds. Ten. Twenty.
Then: Accepted by Jack Sullivan.
“Holy shit,” I whispered to the empty conference room, my stomach doing a complicated series of flips. No backing out now. I’d booked a private meeting with my boss for the express purpose of...
My hands shook as I hopped up onto the edge of the conference table, my pencil skirt riding up my thighs as I crossed one leg over the other, hoping the pose looked casual and sexy instead of terrified. Then, before my nerve could abandon mecompletely, I reached up and undid the first button of my white silk blouse. Then another. And another. Until the lacy edge of my navy bra was visible, my cleavage framed by crisp white fabric.
Out of nowhere, a memory slammed into me. Saturday night. Me, sprawled across my bed, Jack’s selfie glowing on my phone screen while my vibrator hummed between my legs. The way his towel had hung low on his hips, the V of muscle disappearing beneath terry cloth. How I’d traced every ridge of his muscles with my eyes while I worked the vibrator frantically, imagining his cock there instead.
I’d come so hard I’d seen stars, his name escaping my lips in a broken gasp. Then I’d lain there, staring at the ceiling, wondering if he was touching himself too. If he was looking at my photo while he did it. The thought had sent fresh heat pooling between my thighs, and before I knew it, I was reaching for my vibrator again.
A sharp spike of arousal shot through me at the memory, and I squeezed my thighs together, suddenly hyperaware of the damp heat gathering there. My nipples hardened beneath my bra, visible through the thin silk of my blouse. Perfect. Or maybe mortifying. I couldn’t quite decide.
The door handle clicked.
Every nerve ending in my body fired at once. Too late to change my mind. Too late to fix my buttons or smooth my skirt or pretend I wasn’t sitting on the conference table waiting for him.
Jack stepped inside and froze.
His eyes locked on mine for a split second before dropping to my exposed cleavage. Then lower, to where my skirt had ridden up, revealing several inches of thigh. His jaw clenched and he swallowed hard.
“Mia.” My name came out rough, almost strangled. “What are you doing?”
What was I doing? Good question. Fantastic question. One I couldn’t answer because all my brain cells had apparently migrated south, leaving me with nothing but burning need and the kind of reckless courage that comes from being sexually frustrated and borderline obsessed with your boss.
My lips curved into what I hoped was a casual smile. “I thought we should go over my performance metrics for the quarter. There are some interesting trends I wanted to discuss.” I gestured to the chair directly in front of me, my heart pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat. “Have a seat and I’ll pull up the data.”
He hesitated for a beat, those hazel eyes burning into mine, before lowering himself into the chair. I was grateful when he couldn’t see my hands shaking as I picked up my tablet and pretended to navigate to the appropriate files.
“So the Western division has shown marked improvement across several key performance indicators,” I began, forcing my voice to remain steady as I launched into my presentation. “Customer retention is up, while acquisition costs have decreased by...”
I bit back a gasp when I felt his fingers on the back of my calf. Light as a feather, they traced a path up my leg, over my knee, higher and higher until they reached the lace edge of my thigh-high stockings.
“These are going to be the death of me,” he murmured, his voice low and rough.
Somehow I kept talking. “...decreased by approximately 12%. The implementation of the customer archetype system has also resulted in...”
His fingers retraced their path, sliding slowly back down my leg until they reached my foot. With deliberate care, he slipped off my pump, letting it fall to the carpet with a soft thud. The other shoe followed quickly after.
Uncrossing my legs, I rested one foot on the outer edge of the chair, the other in his lap. Jack’s hand wrapped around my calf, pulling my leg wider. There was no doubt that he could see straight up my skirt, to the lacy, navy panties that matched my bra. I’d spent more money on underwear in the last week than I had in the past five years. Right now, I considered that a solid investment. Where was I? “...Resulted in a 15% increase in conversion rates across all segments.”
